


Dear Shakespeare

by msmerlin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Divorce, F/M, Fighting, Miscarriage, life story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 20:54:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18269171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmerlin/pseuds/msmerlin
Summary: When the fates bring together two opposites, will the love they have be able to overcome the years of obstacles that follow? Seventeen years of relationships ups and downs told through a series of vignettes.





	1. Chapter 1: The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: This story contains mentions of miscarriage, divorce and generally an unhappy marriage tale. If there are triggers for you, you might not want to read Chapter 2 or 3. 
> 
> Based on Intensity by Nikita Gill, this is my take as Hermione and Draco's romance and subsequent divorce written for the Dramione Fanfiction Writer's Nikita Gill Challenge. Hope you enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make sure you read all of the stories in the DFW's Never Apologising For Our Wild, Nikita Gill challenge. There are so many amazing stories!

* * *

**INTENSITY**  
  
My intensity  
was the reason  
you fell in love  
with me.

When did it become  
a terrible thing  
you wish to  
cure me of?  
  
_\- Nikita Gill_

* * *

 

**February 2002  
**

"Absolutely not." Hermione slid the bridal magazine across the small circular lunch table as her nose wrinkled in distaste. "I know I said I would do whatever you needed to make this wedding work, but I will not wear _that._ " She tapped her finger against the picture of a blonde witch in a backless red gown. There was no doubt the dress was beautiful, but it was far from her personal style.

"Oh come on, 'Mione. The dress is a stunner and you know it." Ginny waved offhandedly at her friend. The witch's cornflower blue eyes rolled to the ceiling.

When Ginny asked her to be her maid of honour, Hermione was more than a little shocked; it wasn't like they were exactly best friends. She got along with the witch, but she had always been more of a friend to Ron and Harry than her. Nonetheless, she agreed. She was more than happy to be included in the celebration of her nuptials. At the time, she had recently broken off her relationship with Ron—creative differences—and wasn't sure how that would affect her relationship with the Weasley clan. But over the past four months, the two witches had fallen into an easy rhythm: meeting for bi-weekly lunches at the Ministry canteen and spending Fridays at the Burrow where they would look through magazines, discuss options with Molly and share one—okay, maybe two or three—bottles of wine.

"How beautiful it is has no bearing on whether I am wearing it or not," Hermione pointed out plainly, leaning back in her chair, her arms crossing across her chest. "There is no back to it! I couldn't wear a bra, and Merlin only knows the amount of dieting I'd have to do to fit into something that _slinky_ ," Hermione began, her nose wrinkling in distaste at the thought. She was fit, but not like she had been at the end of the war. Life had calmed down—thankfully—and with the new normalcy also came some much needed weight. "Can't you just pick something more… I don't know, sensible?" Hermione pleaded. "There was a lovely A-line on page twelve. I think it came in red too!"

"An A-line?" Ginny questioned, her forehead wrinkling as a small frown tugged on her lips. "I know I play Quidditch, but seriously? An A-line for my wedding? No, absolutely not. You _will_ be wearing this dress. I've already decided," Ginny informed her with an air of confidence that was more than a little alarming to Hermione. The red-headed witch picked up the magazine from the table and curled the pages around the back before turning it so the image faced Hermione. A manicured green fingernail tapped on the image. "Because if you say no to me again, I'll just have Harry ask you, and Merlin knows you can't tell him no."

Hermione's eyes narrowed, her teeth sinking into the inside of her cheek as she watched her friend confidently lean back in the chair, as if daring her to fight back. "That's low—even for you," Hermione resigned, knowing that she was defeated in this battle of wills. Reaching across the table, she snagged two chips from Ginny's plate and popped them in her mouth before standing up. She was going to have to cut back on the chips if she was going to fit into that dress by December, but she still had ten months to go—so a couple more wouldn't hurt right now."I'm getting more water; need some?"

"No thanks. I have a meeting after this with _Seeker Weekly_. Don't need to run to the loo every ten minutes." Ginny turned the magazine over in her hands and carefully draped it across her lap before beginning to flick through the pages idly. "Hurry though, we don't have much time and I want to show you some ideas for the boys."

Hermione scoffed, picked up her paper cup, and turned from the table. Winding her way through the maze-like configuration of tables and chairs, she moved towards the small trolley in the corner where pitchers of ice water were set out. Her heels could barely be heard over the low murmur of conversations being carried on around it. Normally she'd wear flats, but she had had a meeting this morning with Minister Shacklebolt and was already regretting her decision to not bring a backup pair of shoes to change into. As she approached the trolley, she allowed herself to look down at her skirt as she adjusted the stretchy material across her hips, only to look up just in time to walk into the back of a familiar blond wizard.

"Oh bugger!" Hermione breathed as she came to an abrupt stop against his back. Taking two hurried steps back, a deep crimson blush blossomed across the apples of her cheeks. "Sorry Malfoy, didn't see you there."

When Draco glanced over her shoulder at her, a sly grin on his lips, her heart couldn't help but flutter unevenly in her chest. The broody pure-blood had come a long way since the end of the war. He was no longer the aristocratic little shit who tormented her and her friends. No, since he started working in the DMLE alongside Harry and Ron, it was almost as if they were all… well, friendly now.

"You're not holding a memo, so I wager your head was lost in the clouds again?" he teased. Although she couldn't be sure, she could swear there was a hint of mischief in his eyes as he looked at her.

Hermione scoffed, her brown eyes rolling toward the ceiling. She couldn't help it if her schedule required her to read memos on the go! She was performing the job of two creature regulators in addition to her own work. She'd begged Enoch for weeks to hurry up and hire someone, but the wizard was clearly operating on his own agenda. "No," she replied briskly. When his gaze didn't lift from hers and instead he lifted a brow at her in playful skepticism, she huffed a quick heavy breath. "Ugh—fine, yes! But it's not my fault this time. It's these damn heels—and Ginny, too!"

Draco set his own cup down before turning around, grey eyes running down Hermione's figure, leaving a hot trail across her skin until they landed on her feet, where he seemed to assess her footwear with far more attention than was needed. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, they look great on you," he offered with a small shrug.

"Uh—thanks?" Hermione replied bashfully, her hand going up to tuck some loose curls behind her ear. His opinion didn't matter— _shouldn't_ matter—but for whatever reason, his praise caused her to straighten her spine a bit more confidently.

"What's Weaselette here for today? More wedding plans?" Draco questioned curiously, lifting a hand to wave at the red-head across the room, flashing her a charming smile that only caused Hermione's blush to deepen.

"You mean aside from driving me insane?" Hermione mumbled, glancing over her shoulder to offer Ginny a small grin before she turned her attention back to Malfoy. "Yes. She owled me this morning to tell me she found my dress. I've been trying—unsuccessfully mind you—to inform her that she was very mistaken."

"Oh?" Draco cocked his head to the side curiously. "What's so bad about it? Something gaudy and ball gown-like?" he pressed, holding out his hand toward her. He silently gestured for her to hand over her cup, intent on filling it for her.

"The opposite, actually." Hermione handed over her cup, shifting her weight from one hip to the other as she sighed. "It's tight and gorgeous and _obviously_ not meant for me. I mean, the damn thing is backless. I'm not sure why she thought I'd ever agree to it."

Draco hummed in contemplation as he turned around, angling himself so he could still see her when he poured water into their cups. "What colour is it?"

"Red—well, more crimson."

After several moments of silence, Draco finally turned around to face her, holding out her cup to her as he brought his own to his lips for a small sip. "Well, I think you should listen to her," Draco replied coolly as he withdrew his cup. "You'd look great in red. I'll never admit it if asked, but that Gryffindor crimson always made your eyes pop."

Hermione reached out and took the cup from him as she willed herself not to blush further at his comment. "Well, thanks… for the compliment and refilling my cup," Hermione mumbled bashfully. Brown eyes drifted up from the floor and locked with his for the briefest of moments before she looked over her shoulder to Ginny once more. "I—Uh—I should go. Can't keep the bride waiting."

"No, that's Potter's job," Draco said with a sly grin. Clearly he knew all too well about Harry's inability to keep time. "See ya around, Granger."

"You too, Malfoy," Hermione returned before she hurried back to her friend across the room and dumped herself in her chair before taking three large gulps of watch to quench her suddenly dry throat. When she finally set the cup down, she looked up to Ginny, who was staring at her with an odd expression on her face. "Sorry. I was just—"

"Chatting with Malfoy." Ginny cut her off as she laid the magazine down before planting her elbows on the tabletop as she leaned closer to her friend. "I saw. Actually, I'm ninety percent sure everyone in this room saw you flirt—terribly by the way—with _Malfoy_."

"W-what? I wasn't flirting!" Hermione gasped, her eyes widening.

"Oh? Then tell me: what were you doing? Because from over here, it looked an awful lot like flirting," Ginny pressed, her brows lifting nearly to her hairline as she eyed her.

"He just refilled my water cup, Gin. Jesus." Hermione shook her head, lifting her cup to take another drink. "It's... Malfoy for Merlin's sake. He's just… a friend, I suppose."

"A friend? Right, because you blush and giggle like a first year every time you're around _friends_." Ginny returned with a well-placed eye roll.

"I—you know what, no. I'm not doing this with you right now," Hermione said stubbornly before settling down her cup so she could check the silver wrist watch on her left arm. "I've got 20 minutes left before I've got to go back. Instead of making baseless accusations about flirting with Malfoy, how about you show me what dress you've picked for Fleur and Luna." She knew it was a long shot but hoped the change in subject would distract the witch enough to drop this whole Malfoy debacle.

Ginny bit her bottom lip, cornflower blue eyes narrowing as if debating pressing further on the topic, before she sighed and picked up the magazine once more. "Okay. Fine. But I'm going on the record as saying you two wouldn't be such a bad idea…" Ginny let her voice trail off as she flipped quickly through the magazine until she found the page with the gold colored gowns, and she turned to the magazine to show Hermione. "I was thinking something like this."

* * *

**December 2002**

"You know, I really need to send a thank you card to Ginny." Draco's nimble fingers worked quickly to cuff the sleeve of his suit jacket, folding the expensive material until Hermione's hands were visible. "Your dress is a work of art." She hadn't brought a shawl with her to the wedding, so when he asked to go on a walk outside to the bonfire, her backless dress was no match for the chilly air . Ever the gentleman, he wasted no time draping his tuxedo jacket over her shoulders to warm her.

With her hands free, Hermione reached up to tug on the corner of his bow tie, causing the black material to turn askew at his throat. "Oh hush. She doesn't need to be told she's right any more than you do."

They had been dating for nearly eight months now, thanks to the handy work of the particularly sneaky bride. And while the courtship caught most people by surprise—including herself—it seemed the redhead had known something that no one else did. Their compatibility was shocking. They shared far more traits than just love for academia, although that was normally a frequent topic of discussion.

Over the course of the eight months, Draco's presence in their small group of friends felt normal. Even Ron had grown friendly with him! He had gone as far as to invite him to their weekly Quidditch game listen at the Leaky. And Hermione found herself comfortable around his friends as well, attending dinner parties for the elite members of wizarding society. It seemed that they had brought a balance to one another that neither knew was missing.

"Are you saying I'm cocky, Granger?" Draco questioned playfully as he tugged on the lapels of his tuxedo jacket that she wore.

"You? No, never," Hermione replied sarcastically, a small smirk tugging on the corners of her mouth. Leaning up, she pressed a quick kiss against his lips. "You're just… overly confident at times."

Draco smile widened at her anecdote, causing his eyes to sparkle just so in the soft light of the crackling bonfire they stood beside. "Is that it, love? Any other fatal flaws you wish to tell me about now that we've dating for nearly a year?"

Hermione pursed her lips to the side, playfully tapping one manicured finger against them before she shook her head. "No, just arrogance, but don't worry. I find it almost endearing now instead of revolting," she teased.

Draco let out a mock sigh of relief as he reached out, his hands coming to rest on her waist, and he guided her toward him until her their bodies met. Lowering his head, Draco pressed his lips against hers in a sweet kiss, his right hand rising to cup her cheek, and just as he broke the sweet embrace, a soft melody of a piano playing floated out of the white tent, spilling over the humble Weasley grounds.

It was just then that Hermione watched an idea flicker within her boyfriend's eyes, turning them a vibrant grey, the color of rain clouds. The silver lining sparkled wildly. "What?" Hermione questioned curiously, her head tilting to the side, causing her thick chestnut ringlets to spill across her shoulder and collarbone.

Draco's hand moved from her cheek, his nimble fingers trailing across her shoulder and down her arm until his hand found hers, and he carefully wrapped his fingers around hers, lifting her arm up as his other stayed poised on her hip. "You still owe me a dance," he reminded her.

She had spent the majority of the evening on the dance floor, but her attention had been spread thin. The Weasley-Potter wedding was not only attended by family, but also nearly half of the Quidditch League of Britain as well as the entire DMLE. With so many friends in the room, Draco graciously bowed out of the way and allowed her to twirl around the dance floor with friends she had not seen in ages, but only under the promise of having the last dance of the evening with her.

Hermione's eyes dropped to their intertwined hands, and she let out a small laugh in disbelief. "Draco, no. I've had too much to drink—and we're not even on the dance floor," she began, trying to back out of his hold, but his hand on her hip slid underneath the tails of his jacket and pressed into her lower back, his pinky and ring finger dangerously close to the swell of her arse. "The ground is uneven; I'm going to trip."

"Don't worry, Granger. I've got you," he promised as he began to sway to the music. His movements were slow at first; barely even taking steps and when she no longer fought against his guidance, he began to glide them across the dirt floor and around the bonfire with a confident stride. As the sonata played on, providing the perfect soundtrack for their firelight dance, Draco hummed along to the tune, the deep rumble in his chest vibrating against Hermione's cheek as she lay her head at the base of his throat.

It was in that moment that Hermione realised she had never felt as happy as she did then. Her romance with Draco had been whirlwind—to say the least—and while the fast pace should frighten the logical side of her brain, it was as if her heart overpowered all reason. She wanted to spend every waking moment she had with him, and when they weren't together, her thoughts strayed to her boyfriend. He had shown her what it meant to be truly wanted, desired. She felt beautiful, even sexy at times. His confidence boosted her own, and for the first time in a long time, she felt as if everything was going right. The warming magical tingle that coursed through her veins at every touch or look he gave her felt like the first time she cast a spell. Like she had been missing something her entire life, and he was the piece that completed her.

His fingers stroked softly up and down her spine in time with their slow waltz, and she couldn't be sure if it was the warmth from the fire or his touch that made her skin flush. Lifting her head off his chest, Hermione reached up and pressed her fingertips against his cheek, turning his head to look down at her. "Draco," she began nervously, her teeth nibbling on her rouged bottom lip. "I… I know it's rather early to say this, but I feel like you should know that I'm falling in love with you."

Draco's eyes danced across her face, and she could feel his heartbeat quicken where her chest pressed against his. Their movement came to a stop, and Hermione worried that perhaps it _was_ too soon. They'd only been dating for eight months, and after years of being at odds, maybe she should have kept the news of her deep affection—no, love—for him to herself for just a bit longer.

But just as she opened her mouth to tell him it was okay and that he didn't need to say anything back, his face broke into a wide smile.

"Hermione," he breathed her name, sending a shiver down her spine. "I already fell for you a long time ago; I just couldn't be the first to say it for fear of scaring you off." He admitted as he released her hand to cup her cheeks, his thumb stroking softly across her cheekbones as he leaned down, their lips ghosting against each other's as he whispered, "I love you, Hermione Granger," before he sealed his declaration with a breath-stealing kiss.

* * *

**March 2003**

When she told Draco about her lease coming up on her flat, she had not expected him to jump at the opportunity to move in together. They had only been officially dating for eleven months, but just like everything else about their relationship: they both took the leap eagerly.

It took a couple weeks and a lot of bickering, but Hermione was finally able to convince Draco to look into renting a much more economically friendly flat than his original choice. Her salary with the Department of Magical Creatures had increased with her recent promotion, but she was still not making much. Draco—who honestly didn't need to work a day in his life due to his family's money—had a much bigger allowance to spend on rent, relented into "downsizing" into something Hermione could afford. She had insisted she cover half of the rent, as it was only fair. She had long giving up on arguing over the bill for their dinners out or trying to return the random gifts he would leave on her desk at work, but this was one aspect of their relationship she was not willing to budge on.

When she first told him about the listing in the _Daily_ , Draco turned up his nose at the idea of living in a tiny, forty-square-meter flat in Diagon Alley, but he relented to at least go view the listing after she made promises of wearing his old Slytherin Quidditch robes later than evening in the bedroom.

When they arrived to view the flat, it was almost as if it had been fate. The small one bedroom was situated above Quality Quidditch Supplies, and that alone had been enough to seal the deal for her boyfriend. The home itself was modest, and the appliances desperately needed upgrading, but it was perfect for their first home together. They signed the lease that very day and made plans to more in within the week.

Their friends and coworkers—sans Theo, Blaise, and Gregory—helped them move in, and they held a celebratory drink before everyone departed for their evening plans, leaving Hermione and Draco alone for the first time in their shared home.

"Beef or chicken?" Hermione called across the flat to Draco, who was just coming out of the shower. Her wet hair was piled on top of her head and held loosely with an elastic band. She wore a pair of cotton sleep shorts, the thick purple holiday jumper that Molly had knit for her two Christmases ago, and a pair of fuzzy gray socks.

"Beef!" Draco shouted back from the bedroom after a second. "And that noodle stuff!"

Hermione snorted in quiet laughter as she opened one of the many cardboard boxes that littered their half- unpacked kitchen. Pulling out two mugs and two mismatched plates, she set them on the counter before digging past the stack of plates to the bottom of the box in search of utensils.

Once two had been located, she ran the plates and forks under the facet for a quick rinse and dried them with some paper napkins left out on the counter from the fish and chip feast they had bought as thanks to their friends for helping them move. Satisfied that everything was clean enough to eat off of, Hermione moved towards the carry out containers of chinese food from the Muggle restaurant just down the road from the Muggle front of the Leaky.

After she made their plates—making sure to put extra chow mein on Draco's—she gathered one in each hand before moving into the living room just as her boyfriend walked out of their bedroom, towel drying his flaxen hair with a hand towel. "Enough hot water?" Hermione questioned as she nudged two boxes together to create a makeshift coffee table since theirs was still hidden underneath boxes in the hallway.

"Barely," Draco mumbled as he moved to the couch, taking his plate from her before pressing a soft kiss to her cheek with muttered thanks. Plopping down, Draco tossed the hand towel over the arm of the couch and set his plate in his lap as he reclined into the plush comfort of the furniture he insisted he bring with him upon moving in.

Hermione took the opposite end of the couch, her spine pressing against its arm, and she tucked her feet underneath his thigh. "Sorry. The hot water just felt so good after today," Hermione admitted as she speared a piece of broccoli with her fork.

"I'm well aware," Draco teased, carefully swirling his fork through the chow mein to scoop up a large bite. "I'm not built for manual labor. Next time, we're hiring movers," he informed her before shoveling the noodle concoction in his mouth.

Hermione stiffled her laughter as she watched her boyfriend eat the meal with enthusiasm that would rival Ron's. Clearly the days worth of work made him tired enough to forget the pure-blood decorum that had been ingrained into him in his youth. "Next time?" Hermione questioned, a sing-songy, teasing quality in her tone. "What makes you think that I'd be willing to move in with you again?"

Draco glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, chewing thoughtfully before he swallowed down the large mouthful. "What makes you think you'd have a choice?"

* * *

**October 2004**

The cool October breeze rustled the curtains in her kitchen window, sending the brisk chill across the tops of her bare thighs. Hermione stood before the kettle, shifting her weight from one hip to the other as an ancient orange ball of fur wound between her legs, brushing up against her bare legs. "Nice try, but no more treats, Crooks. You heard what the Healer said at your last visit," Hermione informed the far too intelligent beast, who only meowed in response before swishing his lion-like tail against her skin.

When the kettle began to whistle, she picked up a hot pad and pulled it off of the stove quickly. With careful precision, she filled the blue floral teapot on the counter, making sure not to spill the scalding liquid on the counter top, before dropping in the tea infuser filled with the Victorian Earl Grey she'd picked up from the apothecary earlier that day into the steaming water.

It had been eighteen months since her relationship with Draco began, and now that they had been living together for over half a year, they'd settled into what Ginny had taken to calling "the sweet spot" of their relationship. They had settled into an easy routine during the work week; they'd leave the flat by seven to Floo to the Ministry, occasionally meet for lunch, and return home between four and five. On the weekends, they allowed themselves the freedom to take day trips or stay out to the early hours of the morning visiting friends, museums or attending local shows. It didn't sound terribly exciting for someone in their mid-twenties, but considering that Hermione and Draco both had spent their adolescence fighting an adult's war, it was exactly what they needed out of life.

Pulling her wand from behind her ear, Hermione cast a levitation charm on the steaming pot of tea before picking up the set of tea cups and saucers that Narcissa had gifted them as a flat warming gift. As she began out of the kitchen, Crookshanks moved beside her, not giving up his attempt to sway his owner into giving him some of the grindylow treats that sat in the cupboard.

The orange ball of fluff darted into the bedroom ahead of her, his tail whipping against the bedroom door. "Draco, don't you dare give him—" Hermione voice cut off abruptly as she walked into the bedroom to find Draco perched on their bed on his knees, a small black box held in his hands. "W-what are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Draco moved closer to the edge of the bed, his green boxers riding up his muscular thighs as he moved off the bed.

Hermione's mouth gaped open, brown eyes widening as she watched him open the ring box to reveal a vintage engagement ring. Even from across the room, she could make out the delicate pattern of the twisting precious metal that wound around a center diamond nestled in a bed of vibrant blue sapphires. "Oh gods. _Oh gods_." Hermione took deep breaths as Draco approached, the box outstretched towards her, and just when he was within arm's length, he sank down on one knee.

"Hermione—"

"Oh gods."

"Will you marry me?"

The black teacup set slipped from her fingers and smashed into tiny pieces at her feet. The floating teapot behind joined the cups on the floor with a heavy thud, her magical concentration breaking. As she watched him wait on bended knee, the ring glistening in the soft light of their bedroom, it felt as if the world came to a stop. Every involuntary bodily function halted, and her breath caught in her throat as her mind whirled to try and catch up to the reality before her.

When Hermione didn't respond right away, she watched apprehension flicker in his eyes, dulling the silver lining around his grey irises, and suddenly her cogs in her mind whirled back to life and a heavy breath filled her lungs. "Yes!" she responded hurriedly as she closed the distance between them, tackling him on the brown carpeting of their bedroom floor.

* * *

**September 2005**

The intoxicating scent of gardenias filled the air as Hermione and Draco walked hand in hand through the Nott garden under a starry sky. The day had been perfect: her wedding to the man of her dreams. Everything had gone according to plan—mostly thanks to Narcissa, who took it upon herself to act as the nuptial coordinator for the entire event. Hermione had grown fond of Draco's mum since the beginning of the relationship. So close were they, in fact, that she had even started to view her as a surrogate mother.

That was why when Narcissa had told Hermione not to worry about selecting a wedding gown, that she was having one designed for her, she hadn't even hesitated to trust her judgement. In truth, Hermione could have been gifted a potato sack as a gown and she would have been equally as happy because it truly didn't matter what she wore. She just wanted to marry the man at the end of the aisle.

The bespoke gown was just her style. No plunging necklines. No bare backs. No, Narcissa had clearly taken the time to help design something for her that would allow her to not only look stunning, but feel comfortable wearing it. The gown was a sweetheart cut with a lace long sleeve overlay that cut across her collarbones. It was classic—timeless, even. What had surprised Hermione more than the thoughtful gown was the case of jewelry left in the bridal suite with a hand written note from her future mother-in-law.

Pearls. A single strand of pearls with matching earrings. They had been passed down from each Malfoy matriarch to the next on the wedding day. It was now Narcissa's turn to pass down the family heirloom, and she indicated in the note that she could not have chosen a more deserving witch to receive them. The sentiment had brought tears to her eyes and was nearly cause for the makeup artist to have to redo the morning's work.

Hermione's fingers ran across the single strand of pearls around her neck as the day's events replayed in her mind, a soft smile tugging on the corners of her rouged lips. It was only when Draco squeezed her hand that she pulled herself from her thoughts to look up to her husband. "I'm sorry, did you say something?"

Draco laughed, the faery lights twinkling around them causing the silver lining in his eyes to sparkle. "I asked if you regretted it yet?" he teased, leading down the gardenia lined walkway towards a gazebo that overlooked a small pond on the grounds.

"What?" Hermione scoffed, dropping her hand at her throat to her side to pick up the hemline of her gown as they began up a small flight of stairs that lead from the walkway to the gazebo. "Of course not. This has been—perfect. Your mum really ought to do this for a living."

"She's been preparing for this day since I was born, you know?" Draco steadied his hand in hers, helping her up the wooden stairs until they reached the platform. The faint sounds of the string quartet spilled over the grounds from ballroom where their guests still lingered. Draco released his hold on her hand as he guided them across the gazebo to the pond in order to press his own against his lower back. "She's had years of meticulous planning. Although, to be fair I think she thought I'd end up with Pansy or one of the Greengrass sisters."

"Pansy?" Hermione let her hands rest against the white railing, her lips pursing at the idea of Draco and Pansy being romantically linked. It wasn't just that it was her husband—it was that Draco and Pansy were two completely different people. Opposites do attract, however in the case pairing those two would be like trying to force opposing magnets together. They were friendly, but anything more seemed almost outrageous. "I mean… unless things were different as small children, I'm not entirely sure why the idea of marrying you two would be humoured. You're so… different from each other."

Draco moved behind his wife, his hands sliding across her hips, and he gently tugged at her until she leaned back against his chest. "This should be no surprise," he began, his chin resting on the crown of her head. "But pure-blood marriages are not typically out of love. Not that people don't grow to love one another—eventually—but most wed for personal or political gain."

Hermione reached down, sliding her hands across the top of his. "What changed then? Why didn't she try to pair you off with a more affluent bride?"

"You," Draco answered simply as he began to sway to the melody the quartet played. "You showed up and changed everything." Tilting his head down, he pressed a gentle kiss against her flushing cheek before he slowly spun her around until they faced one another. His right clasped and raised hers gently while his left moved around to rest against her lower back. "Dance with me?"

Hermione didn't utter a reply. Instead, she rose onto the tips of her toes to press a gentle kiss against his lips before resting her head at the base of his throat as he lead them around the gazebo. This was not their first dance as husband and wife, but it was the first time since the days leading up to their nuptials that they were entirely alone.

As they swayed around the gazebo, the string quartets melody guided their slow movements until the tune faded to nothing. Instead of allowing the cricket's song to steal their moment, Draco began to hum a familiar tune—the very same sonata from their first dance together at Harry and Ginny's wedding.

It could have been the wine she'd consumed, the residual magic from their marriage ceremony, or even the fact he had not forgotten about the special moment together, but as they moved together, the baritone rumble of his hum tattooed a comforting rhythm against her cheek, and Hermione felt that in that moment, her life could not have been more complete.


	2. Chapter 2: The Middle

**November 2006**

Hermione sat in the Tulip guest room in Malfoy manor, her shoulders hunched and her brown eyes glued to the sapphire blue carpet beneath her bare feet as she squeezed her hands between her thighs nervously. She had received word two days prior that Narcissa had fallen down the garden steps. If it weren't for the house-elves who tended to the garden every mid-morning, she likely would have gone unnoticed until she and Draco showed up for their Sunday tea.

Rushing to aid her mother-in-law, Hermione left work after receiving a Floo call from Draco's assistant. Unfortunately upon her arrival, Hermione walked in the parlor while Draco was mid-conversation with his mother's personal healer, who was explaining that these occurrences of Narcissa losing her balance were increasing to the point of concern.

The news of the Malfoy matriarch's sudden ungainliness was more than a little alarming. In the two years she had come to know and love Narcissa, never once had she seen her so much as falter in her heels after sipping on wine during the cocktail hour. Healer Cobblestrom's accidental confession must have triggered warning bells for Draco as well, because by the time the conversation had ended, a full blood panel and diagnostic scan had been ordered.

The first test lead to another and then another, and by the end of the first day, both Draco and Hermione knew something was very wrong. More healers began arriving, their Quick-Quotes Quills writing furiously in their floating charts as they spoke in hushed tones around the east wing of the Manor. It wasn't until Healer Cobblestrom requested audience with Draco—and only Draco—that evening did Hermione realise how bad the diagnosis was doing to be.

The stress of her mothers-in-law's potential ailments coupled with being back in the Manor for a prolonged period of time was wearing her thin. It wasn't that the house wasn't beautiful and Narcissa didn't make her feel welcome, but she still felt an overwhelming sense of dread course through her veins every time she walked down the west wing and passed the drawing room, or Merlin forbid she needed to go into the kitchens. Passing the door that lead to the basement still caused a knot to form in her lower abdomen. To say she had conquered her demons from her past was far from a lie, but there was something about being back in that house that took her back to one of the worst moments in her life.

The sound of the bedroom door opening pulled her attention up from the floor, and when she looked up to meet the sorrowful gaze of her husband, her heart instantly shattered. "What did he say?" Hermione whispered, "Is she going to be okay?"

Draco pursed his lips together, her questions hitting him much harder than they should have, and that was the only confirmation she needed in the moment. "No. S-she's—she's not going to b-be okay," was all he managed before two large tears trickled down his cheeks. It was obvious he had fought hard to remain composed, but now that they were alone, he could allow himself to fall into the helpless surrender of sadness.

No words were spoken as she moved off the bed to envelope him in a tight hug. Underneath her touch, she could feel his body tremble in silent, wracking sobs. His arms wound around her waist, and she felt his fingers curl into the back of her gray jumper, pulling at the material tightly, holding her impossibly close as his face buried into the side of her neck. His hot tears splashed against her skin. Hermione lifted her right hand from his back and used it to smooth down the flaxen hair on the back of his head and neck in slow soothing strokes, trying to soothe him the only way she knew how.

"S-she isn't— S-she," Draco stammered into her skin in between deep breaths, pulling her close, as if she were a security blanket and he a scared child. "She has G-Gytrash Dystrophy."

Hermione's hand paused on the back of his neck, her fingers pressing against his taut muscles. She wasn't too familiar with this particular wizarding ailment, but she could only assume from the root word that it was similar to Muggle dystrophy. Her heart clenched; the idea of her mother-in-law literally wasting away was almost too much to take, but she couldn't allow herself to give in to grief yet. She needed to be strong—she had to be for her husband's sake. "I'm so sorry, Draco."

They stayed wrapped in each other until Draco's tears dried and his labored breath evened. He pulled back from her shoulder to look down at her, and Hermione nearly lost her composure. His beautiful eyes were reddened from his tears, his hair disheveled, and he looked grey—similar to how he did in their sixth year at Hogwarts. Lost. Broken. Afraid.

Hermione lifted her hand and stroked her fingertips across his cheekbone, smoothing away some of the residual wetness from his skin. Her eyes softened, and she offered him a silent sympathetic smile, unsure what she could do or say that would ease the pain he felt.

"Hermione," Draco breathed, turning his head towards her touch, nuzzling against her wrist with the tip of his nose, seeking the comfort he so desperately needed. "We… we need to move in—"

Although he continued to speak, Hermione stopped listening at the end of his first sentence. His words caused her heart to temporarily stop beating. Logically she knew that there was no question of them needing to move in to help with Narcissa's end of life care, but the rest of her was instantly terrified. This house… it was not a place where she felt particularly welcome. For generations, it had housed wizard and witches who hated people like her for just existing. Their portraits still lined the walls, and although they didn't throw insults at her like Walberga had in Grimmauld Place, their judgmental stares were nearly as bad.

"—she's not expected… she's not expected to make it to spring. She's hidden it for months now, Hermione. She needs my help. I-I can't—"

"Draco," Hermione interrupted, dropping her hand from his cheek to press her index finger to his lips to silence his rambling. This was not an aspect of her marriage she was ready for. Draco knew of her feelings regarding the Manor, but he was also logical enough to know it made little sense to pull his mother from the comfort of her own home at the end of her life. She knew what he was asking was not something he came to easily. She trusted the strength of their relationship enough to know he would not ask this if it wasn't important. And she needed to trust that this was the right thing for them. That she could make it through living in the Manor for however long Narcissa decided to stay on this earth. "Of course we will. We'll do whatever we can to help."

* * *

**February 2006**

Living in the Manor went exactly how Hermione had imagined: absolute hell. Her nightmares returned with a vengeance, and she poured herself into work to try and hide from her demons. Her relationship with Draco was strained. He was stressed from being the primary caregiver for his mother, in addition to taking on the responsibilities within Malfoy Enterprises. He had left his career at the Ministry in order to make sure the family business continued, and in the process he tried to establish with his new employees that he was _not_ his father's son.

Hermione had requested the week off work, as Draco was in the process of reviewing his company's financial records with a Gringotts auditor, which required many late nights spent between the office and the bank. She didn't mind. The break from work had proved needed, and these moments with Narcissa were proving to help aid her in her own grief. Narcissa's physical deterioration had set in. Her body was literally wasting away. She could no longer stand or hold a book in her hands. The past week had been the first time she had needed an aid to help her eat. Lately, all Narcissa would do was sleep. The healer had warned them that the end of her life was coming soon, as the excessive exhaustion was an indication that her ailment had spread to the muscles around her lungs and heart.

While caring for her, Hermione was forced to deal with the fact that she was losing her stand-in mother. Over the years of being with Draco, she had come to value the Malfoy matriarch and found they had much in common. Without her own mother in the picture, she had viewed Narcissa as a surrogate. And just like with her own mum, she was going to have to say goodbye to her forever. Except instead of sending Narcissa off to live a life without her—or danger—in Australia, she would have to entomb her in the Malfoy Mausoleum.

Hermione shifted on the red velvet wingback armchair, crossing her right leg over her left before she rested her book against her thigh. After a quick lunch with Narcissa, Hermione had settled into the chair while the witch napped and busied herself with some light reading while she waited for Narcissa to wake up. She had good news to tell her and knew that during this trying time it would bring some light into their dark situation.

As she turned the page, Hermione lifted her eyes from her book to check on Narcissa and was surprised to see the witch awake. "You're awake." Hermione said as she picked up the bookmark that was resting on the arm of the chair. "Have you been up long? You should have said something; I would have stopped reading."

Narcissa gave her a weak smile and a frail hand lifted off the bed to give her a small wave. "It's alright, dear. I didn't want to disturb you. You looked enthralled in whatever it is," she explained. Her white blonde and black hair had been pulled back in a loose braid, gray growth from her roots peaked at her hairline, and the normal vanity that would have cause Narcissa to request a hair stylist come take care of it was gone. She didn't have the strength to worry about aesthetics for much longer.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione inquired as she lay the book face down in her lap, her hands resting on the back cover. Although she knew Narcissa would likely not be able to make out the words on the book from that distance because of the Dystrophy, she didn't want to risk ruining the surprise. "Can I get you anything?"

"Wonderful, darling," Narcissa lied, "Like I could fly to France and back." Pushing up on the bed, she struggled to lift herself so she could sit more upright against the pillows.

"Oh really?" Hermione let out a small laugh. Narcissa's macabre humor was endearing; it was as if she had not completely lost herself to the terrible disease just yet. Rising from the chair, Hermione laid her book in the seat before she moved to Narcissa's side, gently helping her mother-in-law into a sitting position on her bed. "I've heard Paris is quite lovely this time of year," she teased as she fluffed the pillows.

"It really is," Narcissa agreed as she folded the blanket down from her chests to rest in her lap, revealing a beautiful cream-colored nightgown. "Perhaps you'll let my son take you there soon. Then you can see the city instead of reading about it in your books."

"Perhaps," Hermione said as she sat on the side on the edge of Narcissa's bed and folded her hands in her lap with a small smile. Since moving into the Manor, it was rare for them to leave for prolonged periods of time, if at all. She knew Narcissa felt guilty about temporarily halting their life, but the truth was that neither of them minded. How could they? They were trying desperately to make the most of the time they had left with her. "But I'm afraid to tell you Apparition and Portkey travel are strictly off the table for a several months. We both know about how Draco feels about cars, so it'll have to wait."

Narcissa's brow knit, and she looked up from her lap where she was struggling to smooth the wrinkles from her comforter. Grey eyes swirled with confusion as she looked at her, trying her best to read between the lines of Hermione's travel ban admission.

Hermione held no doubt that if Narcissa had not been ill, then she would have been able to pick up on her symptoms right away, but she was sure it had already begun to affect her mind. Lifting her hand she gestured to the book. " _Accio_ book." Wandlessly, it floated across the room towards Hermione, and she caught it before turning it over. She laid it in Narcissa's lap. The cover was a beautiful water colour of pinks and blues, splashed across a cream canvas. The title read _Magical Pregnancies and Me: A Witches Guide to Navigating Nine Months_.

She watched as Narcissa's eyes widened when the words came into focus, her withered hand reaching out to touch the cover, a slight tremble in her fingertips and when Narcissa's gray eyes found hers, the sparkle of tears already glistened. "y-you're with child?" Narcissa asked, her voice cracking.

Hermione nodded, reaching out to lay her hand on top of her mother-in-law's comfortingly. "yes. The Healer said nearly nine weeks."

* * *

**March 2006**

"Is she going to be okay?" Draco asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Physically speaking? Absolutely," Healer Cobblestrom replied, "But emotionally, it will be quite some time before she's… herself again."

The morning had started perfect. Narcissa had felt well enough to have the house-elves bring her boxes from storage that contained Draco's old baby items, and she was having Hermione go through the momentos with her. Each time Hermione had pulled an outfit or toy from the box, it brought back waves of memories to the ailing witch. Narcissa knew she did not have long left—and likely would not live to see the birth of her grandchild—which is why she had wanted to be sure to pass these items on to her before that day finally came.

They had only just started on the last box when it started: a sharp pain in her womb. Similar to a period cramp. Hermione did her best to ignore it, but eventually the pain became too much. She excused herself from Narcissa's room to go lay down, but she never made it to the bedroom. She collapsed in the hallway, and soon after the blood appeared. She'd never experienced something so painful in her entire life. The Cruciatus curse held no candle to the gut ripping pain of losing your child.

Denial curbed all rational thought despite the obvious, as Hermione lay crying on the marble floor, she prayed that her baby was fine. The house-elves retrieved Draco from the office where he had been reviewing a contract for Malfoy Enterprises as soon as they heard her screams. Hermione wasn't sure she'd ever forget the look in his eye when he found her. Horror. Pain. Concern. He didn't hesitate to scoop her up, the blood that ran down her legs ruining his clothes as he ordered the house-elf who summoned him to fetch the healers.

The rest of the afternoon was a blur. Upon arrival, the Healers immediately sedated Hermione. The last thing she could remember was clutching Draco's hand, both of their fingers covered in her sticky blood, as she begged him to make sure the baby would be okay. She remembered the feeling of a needle press into her arm before the world went black.

She had been fifteen weeks—or at least that's what she'd heard when she finally woke. A hundred and five days she had carried the little baby inside her body. It had been a boy. A tiny little boy. He'd had a heartbeat. Little lips and eyes. He even had fingers and toes. He had been a person until suddenly he wasn't—until _her_ body decided he wasn't allowed to be.

Spontaneous Abortion. The healer said it was common with Muggleborns. Something about magical properties overloading their bodies. Muggle pregnancy was already difficult, but magical pregnancies were worse. They depleted not only the magical power of the mother, but they physically took a toll. The low birthrate for most pure-blood families was not simply due to infertility. Multiple pregnancies could result in death for some witches. Historically speaking, families like the Weasleys were unheard of in their world.

Knowledge of how common it was did little to help ease the ache. She felt like a piece of her soul was missing the instant that the healers and her husband broke the news to her. They'd tried all they could, but they were already too late by the time they'd arrived. They said the fetus had already begun the process of aborting itself. _The fetus._ Hermione hated them for calling her son that—like he wasn't a person. A baby. A helpless, perfect little person that died because _she_ couldn't keep him alive. Because her body was too weak to continue.

She had cried herself to sleep, curled up in a tiny ball on the king sized bed in the Tulip room. The healers stayed. Talking her vitals. Administering calming draughts, pain potions, and blood replenishing elixirs. The whole time, Hermione didn't utter a single word. What could she say? That she hated them for not saving her son? That she hated herself even more for being so bloody weak?

Just as the mid-afternoon sun drifted through the thick curtains and cast its warm rays across her body, Hermione's mind finally stopped berating herself enough for her to drift to sleep. The pain was gone, and while she welcomed the relief, she hated herself more for needing it. By the time she woke, it was pitch black outside and the room was empty. She had heard Draco and Healer Cobblestrom discussing her potion regimen in the hallway. Her bedroom door was ajar, shining just a sliver of light across her bedroom floor.

"I… I know." Draco's voice quivered. "Thank you… for trying."

"Of course; it's my duty," the Healer replied a bit too clinically. Hermione could hear the sound of his leather bag closing and the sound of his footsteps retreating down the hallway before they paused. "Mr. Malfoy." His voice was louder than before, increasing in volume due to his distance. "I'm sorry."

Draco didn't respond. Hermione couldn't blame him. What would she even say to that? It's okay? Absolutely not, because everything was _not_ okay. Her baby was gone. Her life was over. She failed her first job as a mother: keeping her child alive.

As renewed tears began to leak from her eyes and splashed silently onto the blue pillowcase, she watched the light cast on the wall opposite of the door grow wider, and the silhouette of her husband blocked some of the shine as he entered their bedroom. She could feel the bed sink behind her as he crawled in next to her, laying on top of their covers beside her.

Hermione bit her bottom lip, trying to will herself to roll over and face him, but she was too scared to see how he would look at her now that her body had failed them—she'd failed them. Gulping down the lump in her throat, a shaky breath escaped her. "I-I'm sorry." Her voice quivered. She felt a hand on her shoulder, slowly easing her onto her back, and she shut her eyes tight, tears running across her temples. "I'm so sorry."

She felt his knuckles drag across her wet cheeks, and temples, wicking the salty tears from her skin as his soft lips brushed her hairline. "Love, this isn't your fault." His gentle touch and soft words broke her further. She didn't deserve his kindness. She didn't deserve his love, or affection. Not now. Not after… what happened.

Hermione shook her head no, still refusing to open her eyes, and her hands rose to cover her face from him as a new wave of grief swallowed her whole. Her body rolled into her husbands, and she felt his arms encircle her petite frame, holding her tight as she cried. She could feel his own tears splash against the crown of her head as he spoke in hushed tones, telling her it wasn't her fault, and that he would do anything he could to change what had happened. But most importantly, he told her that he loved her.

* * *

**May 2006**

The drawing room. Hermione fucking _hated_ the drawing room. She hated the Tulip room more now, but she still loathed this fucking drawing room. But with the amount of guests that attended Narcissa's entombment, there was simply no other room in the house that would have worked. Hermione donned the classically cut black dress for the second time within the span of two months and laid her mother-in-law to rest next her grandson. The gold name plates shone brilliantly beside each other, causing her stomach to twist painfully.

_Caelum John Malfoy_

_2006 – 2006_

_Narcissa Isyphenia Malfoy_

_1955 – 2006_

Shortly after Hermione's recovery from the miscarriage, Narcissa insisted that the baby be put the rest. It was unheard of, but neither Draco nor Hermione put up a fight. They had a small ceremony, just the three of them, in the Tulip room before the tiny urn that contained their sons ashes was placed in the Mausoleum. Narcissa had been unable to attend due to her rapidly deteriorating physical state, which allowed for the intimate moment to act as the final closure they needed. As they sealed the lid over the cover of their son's spot, so did they emotionally seal the wound his loss created.

On the eve of her passing, just moments before death welcomed her mother-in-law to the beyond, Narcissa had taken Draco's hand and whispered a promise of keeping a watchful eye over Caelum. The moment was already sad, as everyone in the room knew it would only be minutes until her heart finally ceased beating, but those words nearly tore Hermione's heart in two. She listened through silent tears as Narcissa promised him she would love her grandson and make sure he was taken care of in the afterlife.

The days following Narcissa's death had been filled with planning the funeral and dealing with her will. The Manor, the vaults and all of the amassed Malfoy empire had been left the Draco. And for Hermione, Narcissa left her personal collection of texts that sat in the far corner of the library. They had not been a part of the Malfoy estate when Narcissa married Lucius, and over the years, the small collection of books on her favorite subjects expanded to take up a whole section of the library. Hermione was humbled by the gesture. Knowing she would personally own a connection to Narcissa forever brought warmth to her heart.

Shifting her weight from one foot to the next, Hermione leaned her head on Draco's shoulder and her fingers brushed against his softly. Guests had been making their way to them in a steady stream most of the evening to offer their condolences. More than half of them were unrecognizable but mixed in with the business associates and old blood were familiar faces. Harry and Ginny. Pansy and Blaise. Even Arthur and Molly had shown up to pay their respects. It seemed, however, that there was finally a small break in the crowd, allowing them a small moment by themselves.

"You okay?" Draco questioned, his fingers lacing with hers, and he brought their joined hands to his mouth. His lips brushed softly against her palm. "You can sit down if you'd like."

Since her miscarriage, he had been handling her with gloves. Making sure she didn't push herself too hard. Not even being intimate with her–although truth be told, that part she was thankful for. She was not ready to do _that_ just yet. She needed more time to emotionally heal. But the rest of it was beginning to wear on her. She had lived through a war. She had been tortured and run ragged. She'd fought for her life, and watched her friends perish at the hand of several family members to people in this very room. She was tougher than he gave her credit for. Biting the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from snapping at him, a small nod was given. "No. I'm fine. Just tired."

Draco nodded, gray eyes swirling with understanding as he gave her a weak smile before turning his attention to survey the room, watching the guests linger about the circular cocktail tables that floated around the room.

Hermione knew it was unfair to be upset with him. Every person processed traumatic events differently. She cried and wallowed in misery before picking herself up and moving on. While Draco, it appeared, was more like his mother than he knew. He was a nurturer. He wanted to help fix her—to take care of her, because it allowed him to ignore his own feelings. If he had something to do, something to busy himself with, it meant that he could ignore his own misery.

Just as she opened her mouth to inquire about how he was doing, an elderly couple approached from their left. Instead, Hermione gave Draco's hand a gentle squeeze before unlacing her fingers from his, and she reached out, plastering a fake smile on her face as she greeted yet another person she would soon forget.

* * *

**August 2006**

Hermione walked quickly through the hallway, her heels snapping against the marble tile as she made her way towards the dining room. She wasn't just late again. She was two hours late. When she left work that morning, she had promised she would be home by six to join him for dinner. Which is why when Ministry clock chirped at her, letting her know it was eight o'clock, she nearly fell out of her chair in a hurry to gather her things so she could Floo home.

It wasn't her fault though—truly, it wasn't. She had just taken a promotion in the Department of Magical Creatures. Deputy Director of Inter-species Marriage. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn't have been so busy. But there was a new wave of anti-vampire regulation following a string of bad press surrounding a witch and vampire union gone wrong, which meant her department was bombarded with not only media requests but also Wizengamot proposals to bar vampires from marrying outside their species.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't realise—" Hermione began as she walked through the dining room doors, her arms still full of loose paperwork from her desk. When she looked up, she expected to see Draco frowning at her over his cold dinner plate. What she saw instead was broken dishes smashed against the wall beside the fireplace, remnants of their dinner scattered on the floor around the shards of porcelain.

His back was to her, but she could tell he was tense by the way he stood in front of the fireplace. In his right hand, a glass of fire whiskey sparkled, mirroring the flames that flickered in front of him. On the mantle, a half-empty bottle of Ogden's finest sat uncorked. He grabbed the bottle from the mantle, the sound of glass sliding across wood sounded like nails on a chalkboard in this moment. The hair on her arms stood up in response.

She watched as he turned around, grey eyes turning to molten silver as he looked at her critically. "Didn't realise?" he questioned, "You didn't bloody realise you were _two hours_ late?"

Hermione moved to the end of the table slowly, gently laying her work on the hard wooden surface of the table as she mentally prepared herself for the fight. "I'm sorry. I just got distracted and by the time I—"

"Who is he?" Draco interrupted, his fingers tightening on the tumbler.

"What?" Hermione questioned, her brows shooting up to her hairline. "Are you accusing me of cheating on you?" she asked in disbelief.

"Well, it's either that or you're avoiding me," Draco replied plainly, taking another large drink from his tumbler as he crossed the room towards the opposite end of the table from her. Setting down the heavy crystal with a loud thunk, he refilled his glass. The amber liquid sloshed over the rim and spilled across the oak tabletop. When Hermione didn't dignify his accusation with a reply, he cocked an eyebrow at her. "So which is it? Are you shagging someone else or just avoiding me?"

Hermione could feel her anger bubble beneath her skin like an electrical storm. She was many things—a swot, overbearing, dedicated to her work—but an adulterer was _not_ one of them. "Maybe I'm avoiding this _bloody house_ , Draco," she snapped, her fingers curling into fists at her side as she tried to temper her anger.

"Oh fuck. Not this fucking bullshite again." His eyes rolled towards the ceiling before he drew out his chair and plopped himself down haphazardly. "It's just a fucking house, Hermione."

"It's NOT just a house!" Hermione could feel unspent tears swell in the corner of her eyes as she spoke. "This place is… this place is fucking cursed. I was tortured here!"

"I WAS TOO!" Draco shouted back, slamming his tumbler on the table. Hi eyes flashed at her. "Do not think you were the only one to leave the war with scars, Hermione. Mine may not be as visible as yours, but they are equally as deep, my darling."

"Then let's leave!" Hermione threw her arms in the air in frustration, as if running away from here was the most logical thing in the world. The only reason they had moved in was Narcissa, and with her passing, there was no reason to stay.

"It's not that easy, Hermione!" Draco lifted his hands to smooth his disheveled hair back with an exasperated sigh. "I… I just don't bloody understand why this is so–"

"Because nothing good has ever happened for me here!" Hermione shouted, the tears trapped in the corners of her eyes finally breaking free and spilling down her cheeks. "This is where I was tortured. This is where your mum died. Draco, this is where… this is where Caelum died. Where I failed you as a wife and him as a mother."

Hermione watched as a light behind his eyes flickered, her words sinking in, and suddenly the look of frustration on his face morphed into a self-loathing. He moved from the chair and around the table towards her, his long legs making quick work of the distance separating them, and just as she began to succumb to her tears, his arms wrapped around her, supporting her as she clutched the crumpled front of his oxford. "D-Draco… I… I can't stay here anymore. I can't do it."

Draco's gently cupped her cheek, his thumb swiping the falling tears off her skin, and although his grey eyes were hazy from the alcohol, he was no longer lost to the madness of his wandering mind. "I won't ask you to. I-I'm sorry. I didn't think—" He took a deep breath, his brow furrowing as he struggled to find the right words. "We'll sell the Manor. Hell, we'll burn it to the fucking ground. I'll do whatever I need to. I'll go to the ends of the bloody earth if need be to make you never feel like this again."

* * *

**September 2007**

When she and Draco moved out of the Manor and into a modest sized home in Tutshill a little over a year ago, it was like a switch flipping in their marriage. Everything seemed to fall back into place. She no longer feared going home, and the hesitation about being intimate with her husband vanished immediately. All of her fears and doubts had been tied to the bad memories that lingered in the halls of Malfoy Manor like the portraits of the deceased relatives that hung on the walls.

With the stressors in her life gone, she allowed herself to enjoy her time with Draco once again. And within months of moving out of the Manor, she fell pregnant once more. This time around, she did not allow herself to get attached to the baby. The defense mechanism might have made her seem cold, but she wasn't sure she would be able to handle the loss of another child if she allowed herself to.

Thankfully, it never came. This pregnancy was so different from the last. She had no extenuating circumstances to keep her stress levels high, and the nightmares that had plagued her for nearly a year were gone. Her belly grew, her body blossomed as it carried their child to term and on September 29th, 2007, she gave birth to a beautiful blonde baby girl.

Lyra Narcissa Malfoy was perfect in every sense of the word. She had ten fingers and toes—Draco had counted twice—and a perfect little Cupid's bow over a set of plush pink lips. She had entered this world precisely at her own time—nearly two weeks "overdue" and in the wee hours of the morning. Even now, Hermione could tell she was going to be a stubborn little thing, and the thought couldn't please her more.

It was nine a.m., and Hermione had not gotten a wink of sleep in over twenty-four hours, yet despite her heavy eyelids, she couldn't bring herself to close them just yet. Not when she could watch the beautiful babe swaddled in pink in her arms. Her fingers smoothed over the small smattering of flaxen hair on the top of her head, as she watched the infant sigh in her sleep. "She looks like you," Hermione whispered, lifting her tired eyes to her husband who lay next to her in the hospital bed at St. Mungo's.

Draco was running a single finger along the length of Lyra's arm. Since her birth, he had not left her side, even accompanying Lyra to the neo-natal testing. Instantly, the newborn had her father wrapped around her tiny little fingers. They had purposefully not performed the spell to determine the gender during Hermione's pregnancy, and when the mid-healer announced that they had a girl, Draco nearly collapsed in shock. Lyra would be the first girl born to a Malfoy in nearly fifteen generations.

"No," Draco whispered back, the silver lining in his eyes sparkling as he looked up from their daughter to lock eyes with his wife. "She looks like you. Beautiful… perfect." Leaning in, he pressed a kiss against Hermione's forehead sweetly before turning his attention back to their daughter.

Hermione looked back down to the newborn, lifting her hand from stroking Lyra's hair to run her index finger down the baby's nose. "No. This is not a Granger nose… and see this chin—" her finger ran along Lyra's little jaw lightly "–this, most definitely, is all her daddy. She's like your replica. She's beautiful." Before she could continue, a large yawn overtook her, and as she closed her eyes and fell victim to it's hold on her, she quickly realised how tired she was.

"Draco…can you hold her?" Hermione requested as she looked tiredly up to her husband. Before she could give any explanation, Draco nodded hesitantly. She knew he had never held an infant before. When James was born, he flat out refused, saying he would likely drop him because James was so wiggly. Then earlier this year, when Albus came, he had said he felt a cold coming on. All of the excuses wouldn't matter now though, because this little pink thing was _his._

Sitting up, Hermione leaned toward her husband and carefully maneuvered their little girl into his arms, making sure to cradle her head so it didn't flop about. "There you go… see, not so hard?"

Draco nodded, speechless. His eyes had not lifted once from Lyra as she settled into his arms after the transfer, her little pink face scrunching as she fought against the confines of the pink blanket. Little grunts and whines filled the air, letting them both know that she was being woken from her slumber by their hand off, and just as Hermione opened her mouth to give him advice on what to do, Draco began rock her gently in his arms while humming what Hermione had come to think of as their song: the sonata from Harry and Ginny's wedding.


	3. Chapter 3: The End

**September 2010**

"Oh, Merlin. Are you really going to bloody bring that up again?" Draco sighed as he removed the throw pillows from their bed and stuffed them inside a wooden chest that sat at the foot of its foot. "It's been two bloody it a rest already, Hermione."

"Of course I'm bringing it up _again,_ Draco. I explicitly asked you not to get her one, and you went against my wishes," Hermione reminded him from where she sat at her vanity, applying moisturizer to her freshly washed face.

"It's a bloody broomstick! Not a dragon. The thing doesn't even get two feet off the ground and goes under ten flutters an hour. Our bloody owl is faster than it!" Draco pulled the black cashmere throw blanket from their bed, carefully folding it up before settling it on top of the pillows.

"She is four years old. She doesn't need a broomstick, but that's not the point. The point is I asked you not to, and you did it anyways!" Hermione turned around on her stool to face him as she crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm her mother; I should have a say in this sort of thing."

"And I am her _father_. I should as well," Draco returned, giving her a pointed look before he crawled into his side of the bed. "I got my first broomstick at two. I honestly don't understand why you are in such a tizzy over this."

"Because it's dangero–" before she could finish the sentence, the soft creak from their bedroom door silenced her words. Standing in their doorway was the very person they were arguing over. Lyra. Her big brown eyes blinked sleepily at her parents from the darkened hallway. It was nearly ten p.m., and they had put her to bed almost three hours earlier. "Lyra, what are you doing out of bed, love?" Hermione rose from the vanity, her nightgown falling around her knees.

"Is everything okay, little bear?" Draco asked, quickly rising from the bed to scoop up the tiny tot in his arms, concern written all over his face.

"Daddy," she whispered, her tiny angelic voice laced with sleep. Her right hand moved to rub her eye while her left tightened around her favorite possession, a tattered mooncalf plush named Bluebell that had seen better days. "I had a bad dream." Her lavender nightgown made the bags under her tired eyes stand out more, and her messy blond hair stood up at odd angles from where it had kinked while she slept. "Can I sweep with you?"

"Of course, lovey." Draco pressed a tender kiss against their little girl's head, already in motion to deposit her in the middle of their king sized bed.

Hermione mouthed 'Seriously?' at her husband, her eyes widening in disbelief. It wasn't that she didn't want to comfort Lyra, but this would be the third time this week she had weaseled her way into the bed, and beyond that, they had been in the middle of discussing what felt like a massive violation of her trust. When Draco just shrugged in response, she gave an exasperated sigh and waved her hand at their ceiling fan. The lights flickered off, and the fan came to life.

Moving to her side of the bed, she slipped beneath the covers before rolling onto her side to face the blonde haired little girl who took up residence in what Hermione was beginning think their daughter thought was _her spot_ in their bed. Reaching out, she stroked her fingers across her daughter's blonde hair, smoothing down the pin-straight locks. "Better now?"

Lyra nodded, brown eyes blinking innocently up at her in the darkness. "Better," she agreed before nuzzling down into the soft pillow. "Goodnight, Mummy."

Her daughter's little hand wandered toward her under the thick comforter, and Hermione knew exactly what she was seeking. Reaching out, her fingers intertwined with Lyra's, giving her palm a soft, reassuring squeeze, letting her know in silence that there would be no more bad dreams for the rest of the night. "Goodnight, Ly'."

Behind her daughter, Hermione watched Draco fall into place. He rolled on his side, facing them both, and he draped a protective arm over his daughter, his hand coming to rest on her waist. She felt his fingers rub soft circles against her hipbone in a silent peace offering, and when she didn't bat him away immediately, he scooted across the mattress—even closer to his daughter—so he could rest his hand across her lower back. "Goodnight, my loves."

Hermione licked her lips as her heavy eyelids closed, wanting so desperately to still be angry at him for his obvious transgression, but moments like these made it particularly hard to remember why she was so angry in the first place.

* * *

**December 2012**

Hermione winced as she broke her newborn son's latch from her breast, the sharp pain shooting from her nipple straight to her back. "Merlin, that bloody hurts," she whispered to the milk-drunk little boy in her lap. It had taken nearly two years to conceive the little miracle that lay in her lap, and while not a day went by where she wasn't thankful for his presence in her life, she sometimes wondered if they had made the right decision by having another child so late in her life—in her career.

She was in her mid-thirties, the prime age for advancement in her career, and Kingsley had just begun discussing taking her under his wing as his mentee when it happened—the pregnancy. At first she thought it would end like the others: painfully. Heartbreaking. But it appeared as though Scorpius was a fighter.

He was born on a cold, late November morning in the family home in Tutshill. His entrance into the world was sudden, and there simply had not been enough time to make it to St. Mungo's. When Draco had held up the little pink body and told her they'd had a son—well,it made all the misery of her pregnancy worth it.

Scorpius Draco Malfoy. First of his name and presumed heir to the Malfoy empire should Lyra continue with her career plan of becoming a "book doctor." He was born with a head full of curly brown hair and what Hermione had taken to calling the Granger nose. But his eyes were entirely his father's. Already pools of molten silver, Hermione knew that when he was older, she was going to have her hands full with not falling victim to their captivation as she often did with his father.

"Everything okay, love?" Draco questioned as he cracked open the nursery door and popped his head inside to check on the pair.

"Unless chaffed nipples require a healer visit, we're fine." Hermione winced as she clasped her bra, adjusting the cups to hold her breasts properly.

"Well, a healer wouldn't likely offer a remedy, but I can happily volunteer to assess the situation later this evening," Draco joked as he slipped inside the room, setting a crystal chalice of mulled wine down on the dresser as he moved toward her.

"I believe nipple inspection is how we got into this mess, Draco," Hermione teased, her fingers making quick work of the buttons of her blouse before she picked up the tired baby boy, letting him rest his chubby cheek against her shoulder. "I don't fancy a repeat anytime soon."

Draco helped Hermione rise from the bed, his right hand finding her waist while he ran the tip of his index finger across his son's cheek, grey eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched the newborn move towards his touch. "Oh, I don't know. It wouldn't be so bad… would it?"

"Come again?" Hermione's brows shot up to her hairline, eyes widening in response to his words. Did he just… no. Clearly, she had misheard. They had two beautiful, perfect, healthy children. They didn't need another. She didn't _want_ another. Had he already forgotten the heartache of their losses? The tiny little spots in the family mausoleum? Surely he mustn't have forgotten about them.

As he lifted his eyes to her face, she watched as the light in them dampened, and for a moment she almost felt guilty for being so adamant that they stop at two children, but the nagging reminder of experiencing the loss of multiple children was a maelstrom in comparison to his hurt feelings. "I was only joking," Draco replied. Hermione knew he was lying. Whenever he did his voice went up an octave at the end of his sentence. Like it was a question instead of a statement. It might be unnoticeable to some, but over years of marriage, she knew it was his tell.

"Right," Hermione returned, adjusting her hold on their son before she moved from Draco's grasp, heading towards the door. She didn't have the energy to have this argument right now—and from the looks of it, neither did he. Instead, she shoved the pain away, pushing it deep down into the recesses of her heart until it only glimmered in the darkness, a macabre diamond. "Would you mind looking after Scorpius while I help the kids open presents?" Hermione asked, changing the subject as she reached the door. "Ginny said she didn't mind helping them, but she's nearly due, and I would rather her not go into labor on account of some overzealous little ones."

Draco hadn't moved from where she left him, his eyes downcast to the floor when she first looked back at him. As soon as he realised she was looking at him again, a fake smile fell across his lips, and he gave her a small nod. "Of course. Anything you need."

* * *

**March 2013**

"Hermione, you don't even _need_ to work! I make plenty of money to support us." Draco had used the same argument since she told him of her intention to return to work, and quite frankly, she was growing really fucking tired of it.

"You're right, Draco. I don't _need_ to work, but I _want_ to. There is a massive bloody difference," she reminded him from where she sat on the trunk at the end of their bed. Tomorrow morning would be her first day back at the Ministry since having Scorpius, and although she would miss spending time with her children, she would be lying if she didn't admit she was looking forward to returning to the workforce. She wasn't meant to be a stay-at-home mum. Not that there was anything wrong with anyone deciding to stay in the house while raising their children! It was just… she envisioned so much more for her career. She wanted to be a good role model for Lyra. To show her that she didn't have to give up on her dreams once she married the man (or woman) of her dreams.

"So what is it then? You don't want to raise our children? You hate being in this house so much you have to work? What bloody excuse do you have this time?" Draco paced in front of their closet, his hands gesticulating with each accusation. The low-slung pajama pants he wore with no shirt would have, at one time, made her putty in his hands, but now it just made her realise how far they had come. She loved her husband—truly, madly, deeply—but in these moments, she wasn't particularly sure she liked him.

"Don't you dare use that, Draco Lucius Malfoy," Hermione gave him a low warning, her eyes leveling on him dangerously. "I did not force you to leave the Manor. But that is not the bloody point. The point is I am a returning to work. The end. This has nothing to do with not wanting to _raise_ them. I am not fulfilled changing nappies and reading nursery rhymes all day! Beyond that, Lyra isn't even home during the day. She's at Year One until the afternoon, _and_ I adjusted my hours so I can pick her up after work."

"That's not the bloody point though, is it?" Draco snapped, turning to look at her finally, his eyes flashing. "This isn't enough. It's never been enough for you, has it? Our family will never—"

"I'm not doing this Draco," Hermione interrupted. Moving off the trunk to her side of the bed, she began to pull down the covers, her hands shaking with unspent anger. This wasn't fair. What he was saying was absolutely untrue, but it was obvious he was too blinded by his own judgement to see her side of things. Tomorrow she would wake and go to work, and by the time she walked through their front door with Lyra all would be back to normal. She just needed to make it through this until tomorrow. He would see then that he was wrong.

"No," he replied deadpan, unmoving from his spot across the room. "Hermione, I don't want you to go back to work. Our children need you. I need you. Please don't do this."

She could feel tears swell in her eyes, and she refused to meet his gaze, afraid that if she looked up she'd give in. But this was about more than his feelings. She wasn't _happy_ staying at home. She needed more out of life. More than just being a mother and wife could offer. "I've made my decision," Her voice was firm and even despite the welling tears. "Don't ask me to give up my career again Draco. Being a mother, a wife, and career woman are not mutually exclusive. I _can_ do all three things."

Draco didn't respond, which both frightened and relieved her, but what happened next was something she was not prepared for. Draco moved across the room to the trunk at the foot of their bed, opened the lid and removed the throw blanket and a single pillow before letting it fall closed with a loud snap, the noise echoing off the walls of their bedroom. He didn't utter a single word. No goodnight. No I love you. Nothing. He just took the items and left, and for the first time since they had married, she went to bed alone.

* * *

**May 2018**

Hermione checked her wristwatch for what felt like the twentieth time since the game had started. Draco was late. He was always bloody late. It was his idea to sign Scorpius up for the Little Quidditch League, and now he couldn't even manage to make it on time to watch him play.

"He'll be here, Mum," Lyra reassured her mother from where she lay on the blanket, a pencil and pad of paper in hand. Her white-blonde hair was pulled back in two thick french braids woven with blue and silver ribbons. Ever the supportive big sister, she'd chosen them specifically this morning in support of Scorpius' team. Lyra was less than a year away from attending Hogwarts, and Hermione wasn't quite certain what she was going to do without her. Her entire world changed the moment the little girl was born, and the idea of her first born leaving for nine months out of the year frightened her.

"I know, darling." Hermione forced a small smile before she looked up just in time to see Scorpius wave excitedly from his broomstick across the miniature pitch, nearly toppling off. "Careful. Scorpius!" Hermione called out.

"He'll be fine," came from a familiar baritone behind her. Draco was still in his suit from work, his leather messenger bag slapping against his side as he crossed the last few feet to join them. "A little tumble never hurt anyone."

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, not wanting to argue about the semantics of why Quidditch was quite literally the most dangerous sport in existence and how the development of a youth league was resulting in higher than normal Skele-gro requests from St. Mungo's and private physicians. Instead, she took a deep breath, calming her impulse to correct him and instead flashing him a small smile before moving over on the bench so he could take a seat next to her.

Draco bent down, kissing the top of Lyra's head before plopping down on the bench beside his wife, loosening the black tie at his throat. "Sorry I'm late. The negotiations with Miyazaki Corporation went longer than expected," he began to explain, "They seemed particularly proud of this potion recipe."

"No need to say sorry to me." Hermione gave her husband a sidelong glance before turning her attention back to the game, clapping as one of Scorpius' teammates made a goal. "It's Scorpius who you should apologize to."

* * *

**October 2018**

"Minister for Magic? Are you out of your bloody mind? You can't run." Draco stood in the doorway of their study. Despite the whisper, his tone made her entirely aware of how he felt about the news of her decision to run for office. "Tell them you made a mistake. Tell them they need to back someone else."

"Absolutely not," Hermione scoffed, leaning back on the mahogany desk, her hands resting on either side of her hips, gripping the hard wood. "Draco, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. I have the ability to effect real change. I would be daft to pass it up."

"You would be daft to accept!" Draco's voice increased an octave, causing Hermione to shush him. Scorpius was in the den playing with his toy dragons. She'd picked up a new model of the Chinese fireball for him earlier this week that she had intended on holding onto until Christmas, but tonight the need to distract him out weighed her need to save the present for the next two months. "Hermione, you can't just make these sort of decisions without talking to me. This isn't just another promotion."

"Draco, I am Deputy Minister for Magic. Where else could I go? This was the only logical next step in my career," she pointed out, her brow furrowing. "You haven't exactly been supportive of my work since Scorpius was born—"

"That's not fair. I support your work. I did not support your decision to return to so quickly after Scorp was born," Draco interjected, his arms crossing over his chest as a deep frown marred his features.

"You can't be supportive of my work and not want me to work on the same hand. That makes no bloody sense," Hermione snapped, her lips pursing in distaste. "It doesn't really matter though, because I'm not telling them no. Quite frankly, you telling me I cannot proves my point."

"Because you never consulted me about it!" Draco shouted, his eyes widening. "Hermione, this is bloody life changing. Not just for you, but for our kids! How do you think Lyra is going to hold up at Hogwarts being the Minister's daughter? What about Scorpius' Quidditch League? Will you still be able to attend games?"

"First off, it's not even set in stone! I have to be elected. And of course I thought about you and the kids. Lyra will be fine. She's a bloody Slytherin. I'm sure half of them will think it cool and the other half will be too scared to piss her off for fear of retaliation from the Minister. And of course I'll be there for there for Scorpius' games. Hell, out of the two of us, I'm the only one who shows up on time as it is!" Hermione said, her fingernails pressing small grooves into the wood. The fact he was questioning the amount of thought put into this was more than a little insulting. She was a good mum. She worked hard and dedicated her life at home to supporting her children in all endeavors. When Lyra wanted to take violin lessons, she had been the one to find a tutor and take her to the lessons. When Scorpius switched from Beater to Seeker, she had been the one to change the patches on his uniform. She did everything in her damn power to make sure she was always available for her kids.

"What about _me_? Have you once thought how this would affect me?" Draco pressed.

Hermione blinked in surprise. Had she thought about him? Of course she had. She had spent nearly all her time thinking about how he was going to take the news. How she would have this fight. How they would likely sleep apart for weeks as a result. "Yes, Draco. I have. But do you want to know what I think?" Hermione bit her bottom lip, choosing her words carefully. "I think that you're jealous."

"Excuse me?" Draco growled.

"I think you're jealous. You're upset at my success. You feel threatened by it. My career is still advancing, but you're stuck in the same place. Never once have I compromised our relationship or my family. Never once have I accused you of not thinking about us when you come home late from business meetings. Never once have I ever made you choose between your job and this family. I'm sick of it Draco! I am sick and tired of walking on eggshells around you!" Hermione snapped. "I cannot sit by and let you make me feel less than because I chose to return to work. Because I am choosing to run for Minister of Magic. That choice had no bearing on how much I love our children or our marriage. This isn't about you."

Hermione watched as Draco shook his head. His shoulder length hair had begun to spill from its tie at the beginning of their fight, and as it framed his angular jaw, it made him look more like his father than ever before. "This is where you're wrong Hermione. This does affect me because once again you've made a decision without consulting me. This isn't like purchasing a new pair of bloody heels. This is… this is huge. I would be expected to divest from businesses. I would be expected at functions! This isn't just about you. It hasn't been for years, but you're too bloody stubborn to see it, too wrapped up in your work. Hermione, by agreeing to run, you've sealed my fate as your bloody arm candy for next ten years because let's be frank, darling, there is no one in the entire fucking Wizengamot that would not vote for you. _The Golden Girl—_ "

"Stop."

"— _The-Brightest-Witch-Of-Her-Age_ —"

"Stop it!" Hermione shouted, the books that lined the walls of the room trembling from the force of her magic as she balled her fists at her side. For several moments they remained silent, staring at one another with heavy breaths between them, and just as she opened her mouth to speak, Draco lifted his hand to silence her.

"I'm going to Greg's," he told her briskly, his hand going up to push his hair back. "I… I can't be here right now. I can't. I just can't."

"When are you coming home?" Hermione could feel her pulse quicken, her mouth instantly going dry. They had had fights before and had slept in separate rooms, but never once had he actually left their home in the wake of a fight. This was crossing a whole new level of dysfunctional she wasn't sure she was willing to experience yet.

With his hand already on the doorknob, he gave her one last fleeting glance before turning his back to her as he pulled it open. "I don't know."

* * *

**November 2018**

It was three a.m. Three in the bloody morning and her husband wasn't home yet. Every possible scenario for his whereabouts had crossed her mind, and she'd Floo called St. Mungo's more than once to check the patient register. Of course, each time a mixture of relief and paranoia waved over her when his name was not listed.

She had tried to sleep, but not knowing where he was—or what kind of trouble had befallen him—proved to be too much and kept her awake. So instead she waited. She sat on the couch in their living room in her bathrobe, her well-worn copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ in her lap as she tried to lose herself in the book.

Just as she got to the section on the Herbology Huts, the sound of the Floo igniting brought a temporary wave of relief washing over her, and she looked up just in time to watch her husband step through the flames. His suit jacket draped over his arm, his tie loose around his neck with the first several buttons of his oxford undone. The haze in his eyes told her he'd been drinking before the smell of firewhiskey confirmed it.

Draco froze on the hearth, his spine straightening as he spotted her across from him. "You're awake?" he questioned, obviously confused by the prospect that she was up this late.

"It's hard to sleep when you don't know where your spouse is," Hermione clipped, her hands folding in her lap on top of her book.

Draco's brows met in the middle of his forehead, and it was as if she could see the gears in his head turning to make sense of what she said. "Oh shit. I… I forgot."

"Clearly."

Draco reached up, pinching the bridge of his nose as he took a slow breath. "I don't want to do this tonight, Hermione. I just want to go to bed."

"As did I. Several hours ago, mind you, so my concern for your preference on when we have this conversation is non-existent," Hermione informed him plainly. "Where have you been?"

"I was at Theo's," he responded, dropping his hand from his face, and he tossed his jacket on the coffee table as he moved past it to take a seat in a leather armchair across from his wife.

"With?" Hermione pressed, lifting a single brow.

"Theo and Blaise. Gabrielle was there, but considering she's his wife, I'd assume you know she's always there." Draco slumped back in the armchair, languorously crossing his legs at the knee.

"Who else?"

"What?"

"Who else was there?" Hermione leaned forward, pressing her elbows to her knees as watched Draco through the dimly light room, trying to get a read on his reactions to her questions.

"No one else…. are you trying to see if I was with another woman, Hermione?" Draco questioned plainly.

"I'm just trying to see what was so bloody important to you that you neglected to come home and see your wife and son after a days work, that's all," Hermione returned, pursing her lips together.

"Well, let me assure you. Never once have I ever so much as looked at another woman lustfully, darling. Quite the opposite, actually…" his voice trailed off, his tongue sliding across his teeth in thought, as if trying to decide if he should continue or not.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Hermione questioned, her eyes narrowing as she cocked her head to the side.

"It means, darling, that I'm unhappy." Draco's words caught her off guard. Sure, she knew they were not exactly in the best moment of their marriage, but to voice it so bluntly was something else. "I've been unhappy for months, and it's not getting any bloody better. I had a shite day at the office, so I went to Theo's to fucking medicate before I came home where I knew—once again—we would fight. So clearly I was not wrong."

"You feel like you have to drink to be around me?" Hermione didn't know if this wounded her or enraged her. They had been married for thirteen years. They had gone through the worst moments of their lives together—before and after the war even—and now he had to drink in order to be around her? What had become of their lives?

"Yes… no? Gods, I don't bloody know anymore, Hermione." Draco smoothed his hands over his face exasperatedly. "Hermione, I don't… I don't know you anymore. You're not the same woman I fell in love with."

"W-What are you trying to say, Draco?" Hermione could feel her voice quiver as warning bells began to ring in her head. Her palms felt sweaty, and she could already feel her body tremble. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. It was three in the bloody morning on a Tuesday! She had work the next day. He had work. This was a mistake. This had to be a mistake.

"That I don't want this… I don't want to fight anymore. I don't want to feel like I come second best to everything else in your life." He dropped his hands away from his face and through the darkness she could make out the sparkle of tears that glittered in his eyes like diamonds. "Hermione, I want a divorce."

* * *

**January 2019**

They gave the kids one last Christmas before they told them they were separating. Draco didn't want to drag out the process, but Hermione insisted. She wanted things to end on a positive note for the children, and secretly, she wanted one last memory of them all together.

Scorpius took the news surprisingly well. He was still too young to process what was really happening and instead focused on the fact that he would get two Christmases next year. Lyra, her sweet, gentle, artistic little girl, was gutted. She cried. She screamed. She blamed Hermione at first, telling her that it was her fault that Draco wanted to leave, but on the first night after Draco moved out, Lyra came crawling into her bed like she used to as a small girl. And she had continued to do so every night during the winter break.

It had been harder than Hermione ever imagined. Walking into a half-filled house. Her closet no longer a shared space with her husband's expensive suits and shoes. The pillows no longer smelled of his cologne. When the kids weren't watching, she would allow herself to cry. To feel the pain accompanied with separating from the person you were supposed to spend the rest of your life with. It was temporary, she had told herself. It would go away eventually, and she would find happiness once more. But right now, it seemed almost impossible.

The truth was, as much as she loved Draco—and she would always love him—there was a small part of her that was relieved to not spend her evenings bickering with him or wondering when he would be home. And she hated herself for that feeling, because it meant he wasn't around anymore.

They had met that morning at seven a.m. in the barrister's office, and by nine a.m. all of the documents were signed. Hermione asked for no money in the divorce and only took what legally belonged to her: the items she came into the marriage with and the books Narcissa had left her. The house in Tutshill would be sold, and the profits would be split between both her and Draco. The children would divide their time between both houses, with Hermione's being the primary residence for Scorpius because her schedule allowed for easier drop off and pick up from school.

The details had been laid out on paper, and as soon as their signatures were scrawled on the document, the magic that bound them together dissolved. The effect was immediate; it felt like there was a hole in her heart, but she refused to let him see her tears any longer.

"Hermione, you know I'll always love you," Draco confessed as Hermione gathered her copies of the divorce documents, hastily shoving them into a folder. "Despite… everything. I will. I'm sorry for how this ended."

Hermione didn't trust herself to respond, knowing her voice would give away her feelings. Instead, she gave him a toothless smile before nodding her head. She needed to leave. She needed to get out of this bloody room and away from him before she said or did something foolish.

"Can you please say something?" Draco reached out, placing a hand on her wrist. "Please just say something… anything."

Hermione stiffened, her fingers curling tightly around the folder until the paper creased. "What do you want me to say, Draco?" she whispered, pulling her hand away from his so she could put the folder in her purse.

"Something. Bloody hell, anything. I just want to know you're okay," Draco said.

Okay? She wasn't okay! She was thirty-nine years old, and divorced. She was still very much in love with her ex-husband and had just started her term as Minister for Magic. Every-fucking-thing about this situation was decidedly _not_ okay, but she couldn't very well tell him that, now could she? Instead, she closed her purse and took a shaky breath before looking up to Draco, plastering the small hint of a smile on her face. She was embarking on a political career, she might as well get used to lying, right? "I wish you nothing but happiness, Draco, but I need to go."

He looked wounded by her reply, his grey eyes dropping to look at the toes of his loafers before he nodded. "Right… Ministry duty?" he questioned, glancing up through his blond eyelashes.

"Yes." She moved around him, her hand curling tightly around the handle of her purse, hoping it would curb the tremble that appeared the moment they entered this bloody office. Just as she reached the door, she heard Draco clear his throat before he spoke to her once more.

"I wasn't lying, you know?" he called out, "I do love you… it's different now than it was before, but it's there. It will always be there."

Hermione's world felt like it was on the verge of collapse. How could he sign the dissolution of their marriage and then tell that he still loved her? Clearly he didn't. Clearly whatever he felt was not good enough to warrant his continued devotion. Didn't he understand how fucking painful this was? To be torn between following her heart and her mind? The reality was she would never be the person he wanted. She would never be able to give up her career, to devote herself entirely to being a housewife and a stay-at-home mother.

She had been raised by a woman who showed her that working and raising children was possible. A woman who fought for equal rights in her youth and who taught her the value of hard work. This was not a new trait or sudden change in behavior. This passion—no, this _intensity—_ had been with her since birth. Draco knew this. Draco loved her for it… until suddenly he didn't. Until it became the nail in the coffin that had been their marriage.

Pulling open the door, Hermione left the room, not trusting herself to return his sentiment without tears. She kept her chin held high as she walked down what felt like an endless hallway. Past the whispering desks of Ministry employees who watched her curiously. They could judge her, they could talk about her divorce all they wanted. But, in the end, as long as they listened to her and valued her worth as their Minister, nothing else mattered.

As she reached the lift bank, the chime sounded, signaling the stop of one of the carriages as the doors opened. As two men in dress robes bustled out of the lift, she moved inside. Her bottom lip quivered, brown eyes sparkling with tears as she watched the door, praying no one would enter. When the doors finally closed and she was still blessedly alone, Hermione allowed herself to finally fall apart.

Her hands rose to her face, covering her eyes as tears ran trails across her cheeks. She had six flights to go until she reached the first floor, and she needed every last second she could steal to allow herself to mourn the loss of her marriage. The loss of her best friend. The love of her life who didn't want her anymore. The man she had sworn to be loyal to. The man with whom she had experienced every blessing and heartbreak in her adult life was done. He couldn't love her because of something so fundamental to her being. He couldn't love her because she was… herself.

As the little light on the buttons blinked past the third floor to the second, Hermione sniffled back her tears. She brushed her fingers across her cheeks as she took several deep breaths to calm her runaway heart. She needed to get through this day. She needed to get through work, play with Scorpius and tuck him into bed before she allowed herself to feel the agony of her loss again. So much still needed to be done; she couldn't give up now.

Smoothing out her knee length skirt across her thighs, Hermione took one last deep breath before the lift doors chimed open, and as she exited, her assistant called to her from across the lobby. Hermione could feel the heat of the flash bulbs bursting as reporters snapped photos, and she hear the murmur of their unintelligible questions they shouted at her.

"Minister Granger-Malfoy, here are your talking points. Your broadcast is live, and all of the radio stations, as well as the British Prime Minister, are tuned in," the snappy young brunette witch informed her as she thrust a purple folder in Hermione's hand and took away her bag for safekeeping.

"Thank you, Emmi." Hermione opened the folder as the two walked in sync, their heels snapping against the in tile. Brown eyes flickered across her talking points. She had been mentally preparing herself for this announcement since before Draco's confession two months ago. She was supposed to feel confident going into this briefing, but with the upheaval in her personal life, she felt wholly unprepared.

"You've got this, Minister," her assistant whispered, placing a comforting hand on her arm just as they reached the podium.

Hermione gave the young witch a smile before schooling her features. It was now or never, right? Smoothing her hand across her abdomen, she moved in front of the wooden lectern before laying the folder down and holding her wand to her throat to amplify her voice. "Good afternoon, and thank you for listening in. I've called this briefing to discuss the recent string of murders that occurred outside Norwich. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement has informed me they believe these deaths to be linked to a dark wizard under the pseudonym of Marcus the Malevolent, a man more commonly known as Marcus Flint."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! Many thanks for DFW for hosting this challenge! It pushed me out of my comfort zone and helped me grow as a writer.
> 
> Many thanks to Disenchantedglow who helped push me to write this sad little story. Her encouragement was the fuel that kept me going.  
> Thanks to Mhcalamas who reviewed my plot and told me it was worth the time to write it.  
> and, of course, MANY thanks to Ravenslight for being my BETA.
> 
> Come follow me on Tumblr - ms-merlinblack


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